


To Write Is To Be

by Rachrar



Category: Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachrar/pseuds/Rachrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smiled to himself, relaxing in the feel of the ancient surrounding him, taking him back to where things were easier solved- idiots got cut, West was taken care of, and he was a country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Write Is To Be

Gilbert walked into the large room, the smells of the paper and ink flying about him as he stepped past the large shelves containing every day of his life. A bird chirped on his shoulder, making him glance to the yellow ball, those beady eyes making him blink.

"Hey, bird," he greeted casually as he sat down on the plush green cushion on top of the stiff-backed, old wooden chair, scooting closer to the antique desk. He smiled to himself, relaxing in the feel of the ancient surrounding him, taking him back to where things were easier solved- idiots got cut, West was taken care of, and he was a country.

His smile was melancholy as he reached forward, the setting sun shining in the massive cathedral style window to slant on the old style parchment in the book. He moved the pages carefully, reverently, so as to keep the paper together. The book was new, but the paper style was old, matching the sleek falcon feather quill and the pot of onyx-colored ink next to it.

The bird tweeted brightly and hopped down Gilbert's arm, moving to stare up at him curiously before pecking at the desk once. Gilbert petted the bird, feeling nothing through his gloves. A moment later, the leather was off of his delicate, but calloused, hands, revealing rather gentle fingers. He touched the bird again, smiling at the touch of the soft feather, silky and calming under his touch before turned to glance towards the double-door style portal, making sure it was closed and locked by the large wooden board.

Gilbert didn't really speak of his preferences for homes, but he could not deny that he enjoyed the antique styling, having a flair for the simple when he knew that others would not see the room. He didn't much care for pretentiousness unless other people would see. Here, in his room that no one entered without invitation, he remembered the days of Saint Mary's Order, the Teutonic Knights, as they were more commonly known.

He had fought, yes, but they were known more for their Catholic view and spreading hospitals across the land to help the sick. He told people he liked to fight, but really, he also liked to simply take care of people. Those days were peaceful, in comparison to the later years, and Gilbert rather liked to remember them.

His fingers skipped across the smoothed desk, ground to a fine grain from the oil of hands touching it over the years and almost polished. His fingers alighted on the quill and he smiled again, a small quirk of his lips while the bird happily chirped at the orange sun falling behind the horizon. He uncorked the ink, careful not to spill a drop before dipping the quill in gently. Just deep enough, not too deep, it wasn't sex after all, and he pulled the feather out. It had just enough ink to write for a short time.

_Dear Old Fritz,_

He began to write gently, the room silent but for the scratching of the quill on the thick marble parchment. The feather twitched in his hand, fingers manipulating it gently.

_I was so awesome today..._

With each word, his shoulders relaxed, muscles untensing and his haughty expression falling to peace. He sat straighter, rolling shoulders back to sit properly. He could almost see the priests walking behind him, candles lighting the darkening room as the sun fell lower and lower, the disk being eclipsed quickly by the earth itself.

He felt the heavy cloth of the priest's robes weight on him gently, the black material warm and comforting, the white trimming with the iron cross displaying his allegiance. His rosary struck against the desk gently, the cross shining in the light, its metallic surface gleaming brightly enough to reflect his scarlet eyes. His feet were in sharp, uncomfortable leather shoes, slightly too big for his feet. Stockings adorned his legs, the light material almost unfelt but for the itchy nature of the cloth.

He continued to write calmly and measuredly, the calligraphy flowing from the quill tip and sketching on the parchment easily, the motions long since memorized and used so often that the ornate script was not difficult in any way. His free hand reached up to adjust the white collar of the priest's robe, loosening it just a little so he could breathe better.

He was at peace, here, remembering the past. His history was long and he had many memories- some of his actions had not been awesome and he regretted them, but for the most part, it was happy. He remembered his superiors' smiles, their happiness for his eagerness to please his boss and be the best nation out there, taking up the sword at too young an age before being told to become a priest to educate himself. It was gentle, there, soft chanting drowning out the chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls.

He was alone- but he was alright with that. He didn't need anybody else. He had his memories and his journals. If he ever wanted to feel less lonely, he would just go through his journals, remembering the past feats and smiling at his accomplishments, mourning for his losses, and cheering himself on.

_It's so nice, Old Fritz. You told me that I was going to live for a long time, no matter what happened to me. You're right. I will, because I'm Prussia, because I'm Gilbert Beilshmidt. Nothing will ever tear me down._

_I will live forever._

_February 25th, 1947_

Gilbert put the quill back in its place, scattering sand across the page to allow it to dry into the thick parchment more quickly. He popped the cork back into place on the ink pot, the priest's robes dissolving on his body and returning to the Prussian blue uniform of the second world war. He smiled as he reached out to let the bird hop on his finger, petting it again.

"I will never be forgotten, 'cause thus journal says I'm here forever, huh?"

The bird chirped, making Gilbert smile. He stretched, yawning, then laid his head on the desk after moving the book to the side, letting it dry at its own pace.

"Heh. Like the world could forget me..." He murmured as he adjusted to let the bird hop off, laying his heads on his forearms to be more comfortable, yawning. "I'm so relaxed now that I wrote my awesome down. I think the Awesome Me will take a nap." He stretched one last time, the feeling of utter contentment on his features as he nuzzled his own arm.

"Night, little buddy."


End file.
